


ominous

by TsingaDark



Series: Spooky Month [7]
Category: Phandom/The Fantastic Foursome (YouTube RPF)
Genre: Demons, Inspired by the latest DanAndPhilCRAFTS video, M/M, Violence, choking (not the sexy kind), non-au
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-13
Updated: 2017-10-13
Packaged: 2019-01-16 22:03:04
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,324
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12351435
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TsingaDark/pseuds/TsingaDark
Summary: It starts on a Sunday, of all things. Nothing should start on a Sunday, frankly; it’s the one day where one is allowed to fully relax and lie around the whole day. Sunday is not a day to start new projects or change your life, it’s a day of peace and calm. Therefore, Phil notices much quicker than he usually would have that something is wrong.





	ominous

**Author's Note:**

> this oneshot was inspired by the last danandphilcrafts video. I started writing this in April but only recently finished it (hardcore procrastination xD)

It starts on a Sunday, of all things. Nothing should start on a Sunday, frankly; it’s the one day where one is allowed to fully relax and lie around the whole day. Sunday is not a day to start new projects or change your life, it’s a day of peace and calm. Therefore, Phil notices much quicker than he usually would have that something is wrong.

It’s not even that obvious at first. He’s seen Dan for breakfast, talked to him, watched an episode of that new anime they discovered, with a name that Phil can neither pronounce nor remember properly. Since then, however, Phil hasn’t heard anything from Dan. 

He knows Dan’s in his room, probably in bed napping or on his computer, but they usually spend their Sundays together in the lounge, each on their respective laptops. Sometimes they order in if they’re too lazy to cook and then they watch one of the films they’ve always wanted to see but had never got around to. 

Now though, it’s already past 6pm - when had it got so late? - and Phil’s still on his own, the sun slowly setting outside, basking everything in an orange hue. Maybe Dan didn’t sleep well the night before and has been in bed this whole time? Or he is having another existential crisis again. But he hasn’t had one of those in ages and even if, they’ve never lasted this long and Dan normally texts Phil to come and cuddle away the existential thoughts. 

To be honest, Phil’s getting a bit worried. He can’t help but imagine Dan lying dead on the floor - he knows he’s getting way too worked up and dramatic, but he leaps up anyway, his laptop falling onto the sofa next to him, and quickly makes his way to Dan’s room. 

He knocks but there’s no answer, making Phil even more worried than he already is. He hastily opens the door, blackness greeting him and he breathes out in relief. Dan has been asleep this whole time after all. He’s pulled the curtains shut, only a bit of the receding sunlight breaking through, and Phil’s about to step back and leave Dan to sleep when he notices that Dan is not in his bed. 

In fact, he’s sitting at his computer, headphones on, and is focusing on something on screen. It looks to be a video, a swirling darkness of greys and blacks and reds, and to Phil, it doesn’t seem to be much of anything, really. 

Phil assumes that this must be one of those weird artistic things he simply doesn’t understand while Dan highly praises them for being relevant. He closes the distance between him and Dan and gently lays his hand on Dan’s shoulder, to make him aware of his presence. 

What he doesn’t expect is for Dan to whirl around, throwing Phil off balance, and leaping up. “What the fuck are you doing?” he yells, while quickly shutting off the monitor, plunging the room into even more darkness. 

“W-what?” Phil stutters, not sure what he’s done to justify Dan actually shouting at him.

“Get out of my room!” he all but screams, pointing towards the door, and even in this darkness Phil can tell how angry Dan is. 

He placatingly lifts his arms to show that he’s not out to fight Dan - not that he would physically fight him in any situation - and stumbles out of Dan’s room. As soon as he’s crossed the threshold, Dan slams the door shut behind him. 

For a second, Phil simply stands in the hallway, blinking slowly while trying to understand what just happened. It’s not like Dan at all to yell at him, heck, Phil can count on one hand when they’ve screamed at each other in the past. And even those times were never like  _ this _ , without a proper cause. It confuses Phil, to say the least. 

He makes his way back into the lounge, letting himself fall onto the couch. He’s so perturbed by what’s happened that he can’t even get himself to open the laptop and simply sits there in silence for a while. 

Why did Dan yell at him? What had he been doing on his computer that Phil wasn’t allowed to see? They usually don’t have secrets, why would Dan think it necessary to start hiding things from him now? It doesn’t make sense. 

Still, Phil decides to leave Dan alone for another while, letting him cool off before confronting him. Maybe to also avoid a confrontation altogether; Phil doesn’t want to fight, even though he’s slightly hurt Dan would deem it necessary to yell at him. He’s sure there’s a reasonable explanation for this that doesn’t end in a break-up or other equally as horrible scenarios Phil really doesn’t want to think about. 

To distract himself, he ventures into the kitchen, first making some coffee - it’s his fourth one for today, probably the last one he should have - and then fixing himself a bowl of cereal. He’d cook but he’s hoping that they’ll order in after having talked about whatever just happened, and, to be completely honest, Phil isn’t really that hungry. 

It’s only when he’s in the lounge again, his bowl almost empty, that he realises he’s just stolen from Dan’s cereal again. Considering the earlier incident, he probably shouldn’t have. It’s too late now though, so he just hopes Dan won’t notice.

Half an hour passes and Dan hasn’t left his room yet. Phil’s starting to get anxious again and reaches for his laptop, deciding to watch a few animal videos on YouTube. Those always cheer him up and he’s sure they’ll make him forget about this whole… thing, at least momentarily. 

Right at that moment, he can hear the floorboards creak next to the sofa and looks up just in time to see Dan shuffle awkwardly into the room, his hands clenching and unclenching next to his thighs. 

“Hey,” Phil says automatically, trying to make himself seem as un-angry as possible, which isn’t that difficult, considering he’s more nervous than angry anyway.

“Hi,” Dan replies. Even from that short word Phil can hear how anxious and conflicted Dan is, regret dripping from his voice, and he instantly knows that they’ll be okay.

“Come here.” Phil opens his arms, indicating that he wants to hug Dan, and all of a sudden, all the tension leaves Dan’s body and he sits down next to Phil, curling up in his arms. 

“I’m sorry,” Dan mumbles after a while of them just cuddling, his voice thick with emotion. “I didn’t mean to yell at you.”

“It’s okay,” Phil replies, even though it still bugs him that Dan hasn’t given him an actual explanation yet. “But maybe you should put a sign on your door next time you’re working on something secret.”

It’s a poor attempt at joking, but it makes Dan chuckle quietly so it worked. 

“I will.”

As hoped, they agree to order in - pizza since they haven’t had any for a while - and after a few hours, the incident is all but forgotten. Except, it still continues to linger in the back of Phil’s mind, keeping him up a long time after Dan’s fallen asleep. He can’t help but feel like this - whatever  _ this  _ is - is far from over.

 

***

 

Phil can tell that something’s changed. They haven’t talked about the incident from Sunday again and Dan acts as if it never happened, but for Phil it feels like something’s different. 

There’s the fact that since sharing a bed on Sunday, Dan has opted to sleep on his own, in his own room. While that in itself isn’t unusual - they both like to be alone sometimes - it is when it’s going on this long. It’s Friday already and Phil feels like the time Dan and he spend together gets shorter and shorter each time, making Phil miss Dan, despite them always being in the flat, only separated by walls and doors.

If Phil didn’t know better, he’d assume that their fight - or whatever else had happened on Sunday - was still ongoing, but it isn’t. If anything, Dan’s even more affectionate and cuddly than he usually is, like he’s trying to make up for the hours on end he spends in his room by himself.

The thing that worries Phil the most though, is that Dan won’t even acknowledge that anything’s amiss. He carries on as usual, taking his time to think of witty tweets, teasing Phil for leaving his socks everywhere and for stealing his cereal. And all the while Phil knows there’s something fundamentally wrong. 

He doesn’t say anything however, in fear of having Dan lash out at him again. This may not be the best way to go but Phil hasn’t ever been in a similar situation with Dan, so he doesn’t really know what to do. 

He’s sitting in the lounge again, alone, and wonders what would happen if he simply went to join Dan in his room tonight. It’s 10pm already, so it wouldn’t be that weird if the knocked on Dan’s door and asked. But what if Dan doesn’t hear him again? Phil really doesn’t want a repeat of last Sunday, but he also misses Dan a lot. 

Or maybe Phil could call him and see if Dan came to the lounge and if he did, he could ask? Well, it’s worth a try.

“Dan!” Phil calls as loud as he is able to. He hopes the neighbours don’t mind him shouting but since it was only a one time thing, he’s sure they will condone it.

At first, he thinks that Dan hasn’t heard him but then a doors creaks and the sound of footsteps comes closer until Dan rounds the corner and Phil sees him walking in. He’s already opened his mouth to say something when he becomes aware of the look on Dan’s face. He wishes he knew better words to describe what he sees but the first thing that comes to his mind is that Dan doesn’t really look like, well, like Dan. 

“What?” Dan huffs out. 

“Oh, I, uh,” Phil stammers, not sure if he should actually ask what he’d planned, considering how pissed off Dan already seems to be. “I, um, I was wondering if I could sleep in your bed tonight?” 

For a second, Dan doesn’t respond and Phil’s about to take his question back, but then Dan nods. His shoulders drop slightly and he looks defeated, making Phil furrow his brow. 

Dan turns around then, without saying anything, but stops on the threshold. “Well?” he prompts, looking back at Phil and raising an eyebrow. “You coming?”

“Oh, I, yeah,” Phil rushes to say and flips his laptop shut. “I’m just going to brush my teeth first.”

“Sure,” Dan says and leaves. 

For a few seconds, Phil continues simply sitting there until he remembers that he’s supposed to go to the bathroom. He unconsciously looks towards Dan’s door on the way there. It’s closed and for some reason, Phil feels a shiver run down his spine. He can’t pinpoint why exactly, but something feels wrong, in a way he can’t explain. 

He mechanically brushes his teeth and puts on his glasses after taking out his contacts. He notices how dirty his glasses are, which isn’t that surprising considering he rarely cleans them, but for some reason he becomes even more aware of it now, like he’s super sensitive to everything around him. On his way to Dan’s room, he stops in the kitchen, searching for that pack of a hundred cleaning wipes he accidentally bought the other week. He finds it in the cupboard with the cereal, not even wondering why it’s there. Honestly, he’s put things in stranger places.

The corridor to their rooms seems longer than usual, intensifying that weird feeling in Phil’s stomach. Something is  _ definitely  _ different, but he can’t exactly pinpoint what because at the same time, everything seems to be the same as it usually is.

For a moment, standing in front of Dan’s door, he hesitates. But there’s nothing  _ actually  _ wrong and he tells himself that he’s being ridiculous. This is Dan after all, his Dan, who thinks about everything too much, who’s loud when he enjoys something, who likes to snuggle up to Phil in bed when he’s reading another Stephen King novel yet again. He knows Dan, likes to think that he knows almost everything about him, considering they’ve spent seven years of their lives together.

Phil finally opens the door, only to find Dan already in bed, all the lights turned off except for the one on the nightstand. 

“Hey,” Phil says automatically as he enters and Dan smiles at him from where he’s already buried under the duvet. The sight of Dan’s dimples makes Phil breathe a sigh of relief. He doesn’t quite know what he expected but it somehow wasn’t this normalness.

“Are you just going to stand there all night?” Dan asks, raising an eyebrow and lifting the duvet in invitation.

“No,” Phil says defensively, but moves to join Dan. He can feel his face getting warm in embarrassment. All this time he’d worried that something was wrong but he hadn’t taken into consideration that it could’ve just been his imagination. It seems ridiculous now that he thought Dan was different, when he immediately cuddles up to Phil under the duvet, his long limbs wrapping around Phil like Dan’s secretly an octopus. 

Phil’s moves around a bit so that he’s comfortable and presses a kiss to Dan’s forehead, his arm coming up around Dan’s waist. He isn’t wearing a shirt - like always - and his skin feels warm under Phil’s fingertips. Dan makes an appreciative noise when Phil slowly starts to sweep his thumb over his hipbone and starts to hold onto Phil even harder. 

Despite the warmth and comfort he feels, it takes a long time for Phil to fall asleep. Long after Dan’s breathing has evened out and they’ve shifted slightly so that Phil’s arm wouldn’t fall asleep sometime during the night, he finally feels his eyelids getting heavy and soon after, there’s only darkness.

 

***

 

There’s red, lots and lots of red, and black that’s seeping in, changing, transforming the red so that it looks like blood. It swirls around, drawing patterns that Phil can’t make out; writing sentences that Phil can’t read. It makes his head swim, all this redness, like he’s absorbed all of it and is now nothing but red, red, red.

 

***

 

Dan’s leaning over him and it should be comforting, like it usually is when Dan is the first one awake. But instead of the soft smile on Dan’s face, dimples popping and brown eyes heavy with love, he wears a different expression. The smile is there, but it’s just this short of a grimace, barely there but still visible to Phil. And his eyes; they make Phil shudder. He thinks he can make out red that swirls together with brown, but that’s not even the most disconcerting thing about them. They look dead, and so unlike Dan that Phil wants to move away, wants to scramble backwards on the bed. Except there’s nowhere to go and Dan’s right there, and there’s just pain, overwhelming, all-encompassing agony running through his body. 

He doesn’t know where he starts or ends, doesn’t know up or down, doesn’t know if he’s still alive or already dead, but he wishes he was, so that this would stop, just  _ stop _ . He can’t move, he can’t breathe, and all the while Dan’s just hovering above him, grinning madly. Phil wants to reach out, wants to ask for help, but he can’t even utter Dan’s name.

Suddenly, there are hands around his neck, pressing, cutting of Phil’s windpipe, and his vision begins to fade, black spots dancing in front of his eyes. He’s distantly aware that he’s gripping the arms holding onto him, but it’s over far too soon. The last thing he sees are brown eyes tinged red.

 

***

 

It feels like he’s floating, calm and peaceful, without direction. There’s darkness but it’s not scary, it’s comfortably wrapping around him like an old friend. Like a blanket on a cold winter night when he’s curling up in bed with his hot chocolate and a good book. It’s warm and cosy and just  _ pleasant _ , the weight of the blanket settling over his limbs, tugging him down, lightly pressing him into the mattress, keeping him grounded. But then the darkness changes and Phil thinks he can make out some colours. He wants to reach out, to see if he can touch them, bring them closer, but the weight on him increases and it gets progressively harder to move at all. He can’t make his body do what he wants, his toes won’t wiggle and his arms won’t lift and suddenly breathing gets harder, like someone’s sat down on his chest, pressing and pressing, all breath leaving Phil until there’s nothing left but colourful spots dancing in his vision and blackness seeping in, expanding, enclosing. 

 

***

 

Phil wakes with a gasp, his hand immediately flying up to his throat. He shakily draws in a much needed breath, as if he’s been deprived of oxygen for the last minute. 

When he’s finally able to take in his surroundings - dim sunlight falling in through the half-closed blinds - he notices that he’s alone in bed, Dan’s side cold already. He must’ve gotten up a while ago, which is very unlike Dan, who usually goes to bed late and therefore sleeps until 11 am most mornings. Not today, it seems, because when Phil throws a glance at the clock on his lockscreen, it’s only 8.47 am. 

Groaning, Phil lets himself fall back onto the mattress and closes his eyes. Almost immediately, there’s pressure on his chest as disorienting and distorted images he can’t place start appearing before his inner eyelid. He hastily opens his eyes again and sits up, swinging his legs out of bed after grabbing his glasses. Suddenly, the idea of staying in the bedroom any longer seems unappealing so he gets up and makes his way to the kitchen, hoping that a cup of coffee will get rid of that strange feeling occupying his chest.

Despite only just having woken up, he’s wide awake. He can’t pinpoint why exactly, but something about this morning feels wrong and it’s not just the way he woke up. It’s like the air around him has shifted and even his coffee tastes different. He tries to shrug off the feeling of unease and walks into the lounge, where Dan is already on the sofa, Macbook on his lap and engrossed in whatever’s on the screen.

He only notices Phil when he sits down next to him. “Morning.”

Dan’s immediate reaction is to push down the lid of his laptop, obscuring the view of the display. 

“Morning,” he says back and even though this is something they say every morning, there’s something slightly off about it this time. 

“Sleep well?” Phil asks, trying to mask his discomfort. He’s never felt like this around Dan, like the air is charged, like something  _ bad  _ is going to happen any moment should Phil make a wrong move.

Dan hums nonchalantly. “You?”

Phil’s first instinct is to tell Dan about his weird dreams - not that he remembers anything specific - but for some reason, the words won’t come out. What he does say instead, is a blatant lie. “Good.”

What’s even more surprising than Phil lying to Dan is that Dan doesn’t even notice. Phil is not a good liar. In fact, he’s pretty shit at lying, and even worse when it comes to lying to Dan. Sure, he’s learnt how to  _ omit  _ things, which isn’t straight-out lying, but as soon as he tries to make something up, Dan always notices.  _ Always _ . But apparently, not anymore.

It sends a shiver down Phil’s spine but he ignores it and instead turns towards the TV, digging the remote control out of the sofa crease and starting to channel surf. 

It’s only several hours later when Dan gets up, saying that he’s going to his room for a while, that Phil notices the scratches on Dan’s arm. 

 

***

 

Maybe Phil is just overreacting. Maybe this is all in his head and he’s being paranoid over  _ nothing _ . 

Dan’s been holed up in his room again, not having come out for lunch or dinner, and Phil’s worried. But what’s even worse is that he can’t get the sight of the fresh scratch marks on Dan’s arms out of his mind. There’s no explanation for them and it seems to Phil as if Dan himself hasn’t even noticed them, as if he isn’t aware of hurting. 

Phil doesn’t understand that weird feeling of unease surfacing at the thought of those scratches, like he’s supposed to remember something, like he’s missing a vital part of what’s going on. But he can’t think of what it is that he hasn’t noticed, except the perpetual weirdness of  _ everything _ . 

He tries to push all of those thought to the back of his mind, ignoring whatever alarms are going of his head, telling him that he can’t just go on as usual. Still, he does because he’s never been in a situation like this with Dan and he doesn’t know what to do, so he does what he always does. He tries to talk to Dan.

This time, he knocks loudly on Dan’s door, not wanting a repeat of what happened last time. He waits a few seconds as well but before he can knock again - which in itself is already something he’s  _ never  _ had to do before - Dan opens the door. 

“What?” Dan asks, sounding irritated, and Phil immediately feels uncomfortable. He wants to make up an excuse, wants to turn around and curl up in his bed, pretend that things aren’t distressingly weird between him and Dan. But despite that persistent urge, he wills himself to do the complete opposite.

“Is it… can we talk?” he eventually settles on, unconsciously shuffling his feet.

For a second, Dan’s gaze softens, but it’s gone so soon that Phil thinks he imagined it. 

“Sure,” Dan says then. His face is closed off, a sure sign that he doesn’t actually want to talk, but the fact he lets Phil into the room anyway is promising.

Dan’s room, once again, is plunged into semi-darkness. The screen of his iMac is casting a red glow over the furniture, making Phil’s skin crawl. He almost suggests going into the lounge but Dan has already settled back into the butt chair, facing the bed, so Phil gingerly sits down on the monochrome sheets.

“So?” Dan prompts, raising an eyebrow.

“Right.” Phil wrings his hands together and gazes down at them, while trying to gather his thoughts. “Is something wrong?”

Dan stares at him. “No.”

“Right,” Phil repeats. This is not going how he thought it would. Usually, Dan would’ve asked where Phil had gotten the impression that something was amiss. 

“I just-” He sighs, frustrated at not knowing how to properly express the mess in his head. 

“You seem off,” he says finally. Not quite what he’d been aiming for, but in the end, it’s exactly what he is thinking, isn’t it?

Dan just scoffs, annoyance clear on his features. It’s so unlike Dan that Phil can’t help but gape at him. 

“Shut your mouth,” Dan snarls. “You look ridiculous.”

For a second, Phil’s heart stops. Did he hear that correctly just now? Did Dan really say that to him? Anger starts climbing up in him at Dan’s behaviour, in a way he hasn’t felt in a while.

“Excuse me?” he says, standing up. “What is  _ wrong  _ with you?”

Phil doesn’t like fighting with Dan. In fact, they never really fight. Sure, they argue because they sometimes have quite differing opinions but they always try to understand each other’s views and come up with a compromise. This time, Phil knows from the beginning that this is going to turn into a full-blown fight because his nerves are already high-strung and he’s fed up with how weird Dan has been acting. 

Dan slowly gets up too, illuminated by the red light coming from the computer’s screen. The grimace on his face is getting scarier with each passing second. 

“You wanna know what’s wrong with me?” he growls in a low voice, sounding nothing like himself.

Phil immediately takes a step backwards, only to bump into the bed with the backs of his knees. He swallows as he tries to come up with something to say, but all of the anger from just a few seconds ago has fled his body, making way to fear as he stares at Dan gradually stepping towards him.

“I’ll show you what’s wrong with me,” Dan hisses, and before Phil can react, his hand is shooting forwards and wrapping around Phil’s throat with a tight grip.

“Dan,” Phil manages to press out, sounding every bit as scared as he is. His own hands come up to Dan’s, clawing at it and trying to get it to loosen, but Dan’s grip is unyielding, pressing on his windpipe and cutting off his air supply.

“I’m not Dan,” Dan snarls and then laughs loudly as he easily lifts Phil up, his feet slowly but surely losing contact with the floor, his hands uselessly gripping onto Dan’s forearm. He kicks at Dan, hitting his thighs and knees, but Dan doesn’t react, as if Phil’s strength means nothing to him.

“Please,” Phil whispers, his body growing weak, tears forming in his eyes as black spots appear in his field of vision.

Dan just laughs again, hollow and  _ wrong _ , the sound ringing in Phil’s ears. His grip doesn’t relent. Instead, he presses down even harder, a crack resounding through the room. 

The last thing Phil sees before an all-consuming blackness, are Dan’s eyes, black and tinged with red.

**Author's Note:**

> [tumblr](https://tsingadark.tumblr.com/)


End file.
